The simple truth? History was never simply history. If it was anything it was another collar—another means to control.

Without shame, without conscience.

Nothing lives long but the mountains and the earth. All the rest is air.

Duty and honor are oft enough realm only for those with security to afford them.

Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.

Madness is a regenerating thing. Like a phoenix, when one strand dies, another burns anew.

Some run the cliffs, and set upon an eagle’s wings. Others mire in the den, and once within, can never leave again.

All men were tools, as she saw it. Dangerous tools, when roused, but that was why one took care in efforts of control. It all came back to leverage. It wasn’t enough to ask a...

A penny for the moat, where all the ashen song be wrote—a tune for man, so long eloped in hours of decision and derisive hope. Flutter, flutter heart, beyond your base and noble part. All...

Are we not all one flesh? One mind? A sword brings power. Knowledge brings coin. With either, one can make blood reckoned, can earn names. The only thing that differs between a noble man and...

That was one of the inherent flaws of faith. Belief without knowing. But worse yet: belief without action. It could be good in its own right. Beautiful, even, when embraced, but that had to be...

Man tames not vengeance; vengeance breaks the man.

Even corpses had purpose, or could be given one. A man could make himself an island his entire life, only to have reason itself laid about him, a fabricated existence. Identity became relative, history nonexistent....

Everything burned, everyone lied, and no one paid for it but the ones in the muck.

Not all things are so simple. I was he and he was me and I took your poison into myself, and made it his. All things join beneath the earth. I burned, then so did...

Say what you will, dear sister, we do what we do for the promise of our youth. Yet it is always they who scar beneath the points of daggers.

Logic kills. Faith burns. Better to be the one with the torch than the one on the pyre.

Hold mirth tight against your breast, but answer every injury with bladed heart.